


The death of one Lord Voldemort

by StolenMidnightKisses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 14:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19396330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StolenMidnightKisses/pseuds/StolenMidnightKisses
Summary: Harry kills Voldemort and turns to see a very alive Tom Riddle staring at him in shock before fading back into his own time.Only Tom Riddle, after seeing his own death would turn good, Harry mused.





	The death of one Lord Voldemort

Harry was cold. So so cold. And he was burning at the same time, with the heat of the battle and the adrenaline running through him and he couldn’t believe it _wouldn’t_ believe it. But as he slowly lowered his trembling arm, covered in sweat and blood and dirt and fabric that was probably once a shirt he couldn’t deny the fact that Voldemort was _gone_. Something had happened, and the curse had backfired and Harry had seen that green envelop Voldemort like a surreal rewind of his earliest memories where he remembered that light coming towards him. He’d _seen_ the way Voldemort had gasped slightly and look almost childishly surprised as if he’d never once even imagined that he could die. And he’d seen the way Voldemort’s eyes had met Harry’s one last time as if to say ‘Well played Harry, well played’, with a simple resignation and some kind of sadness and in that moment Voldemort had been between life and death, when Harry knew Voldemort could feel the killing curse gliding over him like a mothers embrace, soft and silk because Harry remembered all to well how it felt, Harry was almost sad.

Sad because he remembered that young boy from the orphanage, tired and alone and wanting nothing other to be recognised and _seen_. Wanting to achieve immortality so that he could bask in the feeling of _finally being someone_ forever. He remembered the desperate and unwilling hope in the boys eyes (for he had, indeed, only been a boy) when he went to see his father, wishing that perhaps his father would see him and want him. And he’d seen it be dashed to smithereens. Harry felt sad because Harry understood what Voldemort felt and how he worked and how lonely he must have been in those final moments knowing he was going to die.

And as Harry lowered his hand, the adrenaline fading, he felt oddly bereft. It had always been Harry-and-Voldemort, their whole worlds revolving so tightly around one another that they had often fused into one. And now that Voldemort had gone he didn’t know where he stood. It was as if he’d been told he was a dog his whole life only to realise he was a rabbit instead.

But Harry’s exhausted thoughts were yanked away when he heard a gasp behind him, and he’d spun around, crouched in battle stance with a spell on the tip of his tongue and a wand that had not yet cooled from the Expelliamus-

Only to pause, heart missing a beat.

There was a man standing there, tall and immaculate, looking all as if he had just strolled off the cover of some 1940s fashion magazine. And yet his face was ashen and grey, eyes wide in barely concealed fear as he stared at the spot Voldemort had just been in, and then to Harry. Back and forth like a startled animal.

But that wasn’t what had stopped Harry. It was the man’s eyes. Red. Red like blood and pain and insanity behind a cold hard laugh echoing behind the sickly green of a curse as his mother screamed “Not Harry please not my Harry!”.

But it was quiet and oddly devoid of screaming on the battlefield as Harry whispered a single word:

“Riddle.” It came out as barely a breath, a sort of disbelieving sigh that was carried down the wind’s nonchalance, flocking, pausing, renewing, tugging on the brambles of the bushes until it reached a cacophony and yet somehow remained a whisper all the same.

The man stared at Harry yet some more and then said “That was me, wasn’t it.”

And no matter who this man would become, Harry had to offer some sort of comfort after all, seeing all your dreams crashing down like that had to be difficult to anyone. So instead of raging, Harry simply said “Yes.”

Riddle looked at him a moment longer, eyes wide and afraid as his edges started to melt back into the background. His last words were “Dear God.”, before he fully melted away.

And Harry didn’t have time to question why Riddle had appeared and how because he felt the world tumbling into his bones. He only had enough time to think ironically _Only Riddle would change the future and become_ less evil _after seeing himself die, only Riddle_ before he awoke again screaming and being held out to a mother with red hair and beautiful green eyes.

And there in the corner of the room was a breath-taking man with red eyes who smiled at him and said “Hello again Harry.”

And Harry knew he was well, and truly fucked.


End file.
